


Dimension

by micehell



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-21
Updated: 2007-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:59:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But he couldn't help thinking that it might be kind of nice, all that muscle and skin, anchoring him, holding him down… if the circumstances were different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dimension

Surprisingly, it wasn't the pain, but the size that kept throwing John off. He'd been with a substantially smaller number of men than women in the first place, discretion being easier to maintain if you didn't do anything that needed hiding, and he'd never been with someone bigger than he was. He wondered if this was how women felt all the time, outsized and outmassed by the body on them, in them, and he almost laughed for comparing himself to a woman. He'd had any number of people guess he'd swung both ways, but no one had ever accused him of being all that in touch with his feminine side. 

But he couldn't help thinking that it might be kind of nice, all that muscle and skin, anchoring him, holding him down, fucking him… if the circumstances were different. 

As it was, there wasn't much either one of them could do but carry on, Ronon looking embarrassed even as he lifted John's hips higher, pushed in deeper. The pain wasn't as bad as John had been expecting, the oil smoothing things along, but he couldn't help tensing against the penetration, and it was making things harder for both of them. He bit his lip against a particularly hard thrust, biting back the laugh at his unintentional pun, hearing the touch of hysteria in it, even in his head.

Ronon was sweating now, his rhythm faltering as he came nearer and nearer to climax, his lips moving almost in synch with them. He'd been repeating something over and over since this had began, but John hadn't been able to hear what it was. Now, his breath coming faster and harsher, the mantra he'd been keeping rushed out of Ronon even as he came, and John felt the heat of the semen and the chill of the words, _sorry, sorry, sorry_ , deep inside.

He sat up after it was over, taking the cloth the attendant handed to him, cleaning up as best he could. Neither he nor Ronon were looking at each other, but John was still almost supernaturally aware of where the other man was, feeling his heat even over the distance they were maintaining. 

Putting his clothes on with as much self-possession as he could manage, he turned to face Nelas. He knew that putting on too much of a mask wouldn't get him what he wanted -- Nelas had wanted to see him humiliated -- but it was still hard not to pretend that nothing had happened at all. He let just a little of the pain he was feeling show, wrinkling his forehead and thinking of Rodney, slowly dying from the poison, and asked, "Was that what you wanted?"

Nelas didn't answer, looking him up and down with a slow, intent regard, and John had a moment of fear that it really hadn't been enough, that he'd have to go through it again, and with someone that he didn't want to be with under any circumstances, but Nelas finally waved a negligent hand. The attendant went scurrying away at his master's tacit command, bringing the antidote over to Rodney, flinching when John took the bottle away from him. John held his hand up to show he didn't mean any harm, but he wasn't taking any chances again, and he took a sip of the antidote himself, just to make sure.

Ronon started to say something in protest at that, but cut it off, turning away again, keeping an eye on the others standing around the room. The ones who had stayed and watched everything. John wanted to wait at least half an hour before he gave the medicine to Rodney, but he didn't dare, not with the way that Rodney's face was colorless, his lips shading to a pale blue. And, if he were being completely honest, he couldn't stand to be around these people much longer. So he dribbled the liquid past that pale shade, coaxing Rodney to swallow, swallowing hard himself when he said, "Remember this next time you decide to shoot off your big mouth." Not that he expected a reply, but it made him feel better. 

As did the thought that Ronon had their back. If Nelas hadn't double-crossed them, if it really was a cure he'd been given for the poison that Nelas had forced down Rodney's throat, then John had no doubt that they'd be getting out of there. Whether Teyla made it back in time or not, Ronon had that look in his eye that warned of impending peril to anyone who so much as looked at him funny. It was just one of the many things John appreciated about his teammate.

As Rodney's breathing eased, his face regaining some color, John finally looked Ronon in the eye, nodding his head even as he could feel his face gaining some color of its own. He didn't say, _Thanks_. He didn't say, _It's okay_. He didn't even say, _Let's not mention this in the mission report_ , because there was no need for those words, any more than there'd been need for Ronon's _sorry_. So all he did say was, "Let's get out of here."

And if later, alone in his bed, he wondered -- what it would feel like to call Ronon lover, what it would feel like to call him love, _what it would feel like if neither of them were quite so alone_ \-- he didn't ever say it aloud. Because he already called Ronon teammate and friend, and those words would have to be enough.


End file.
